


Drifting

by orphan_account



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Coffee, M/M, Morning, Outer Space, Resisty AU, au i guess, dib's an ass, sort of, space travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:06:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is shit haha don't look at me</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drifting

Save for the low hum of cruising engines, all is quiet in the Zulu corvette. It drifts at a gruelling and steady pace on the boundaries of the Mixtli galaxy with its alert systems on high. One of the two occupants had set it so before they had both retreated to the rest area, now sleeping lightly. Even if a person so much as burps on the next planet, the ship's alarms would go haywire.  
  
However, Dib Membrane already lies awake under thin sheets on his upper bunk. The ashtray sitting on the shelf by his bed is not so much full as overflowing, although the countless cigarette butts have been amassed over long months, not days. Months of stress that comes naturally with being Wanted by Irk and all of its affiliates for thier advancement in, and of, the Resisty. It's hard work being this handsome. Or at least, that's what ZIM always says.  
  
Snoozing in the bunk beneath him is ZIM, one of the few Irkens living to tell the tale of his rebellion and the painful toil of being divested of all ranks in the Empire. His PAK is nothing more than a life sustaining malfunction now that the Control Brains have severed all connection.  
  
It is little more than a reminder of his roots and the Irken doesn't pay it much mind anymore.  
  
Dib had awoken about half an hour ago, and he had checked his wrist watch set to intergalactic time co-ordinate. He automatically took off the inertia lag-time in years and hours, sleepily determining that it was about nine o'clock in the morning - six years behind - on Earth and stretched with a quiet yawn. The concept of having a nightly sleep whilst travelling through space is completely unheard of, and Dib wouldn't ever admit that he preferred that over the interval naps of a few hours.  
  
The room iss dark and cramped with little leg room apart from that of the bunks (a factor which Dib had made sure of, considering his height), the only light being from the softly tinted Glowts in the walls and that of distant stars through Dib's porthole. As the human stares listlessly out of his viewing window at the galaxy they are slowly circling at a presumably safe distance, he scratches at his stubble and combs his fingers through his growing hair.

He needs a cut and a shave.

He deems half an hour long enough to lay in bed "waking himself up" from his nap, and there is only so much of this new galaxy's outskirts that he can watch without documenting any of it.  
  
With a bored glance at the overspilling ashtray and a thought at the back of his mind to clean it up at some point, he swings his legs over the edge, careful of ZIM's personal space. A sleeping Irken is much better than a whiny, repressed, kicked-in-the-face Irken. Which he had found out the hard way.  
  
Dib shimmies his robe on when he stands and less-than-gracefully finds the door in the low light. It shoots open, making him pause in alarm, and then he rolls his eyes at himself. Three and a half years of doing this and he still thinks the door's going to take his hand off.  
  
He trudges through the main cabin of the corvette sitting directly outside of the bedroom and lazily throws his gaze over the instruments on the control panel. Nothing's blinking or screeching at him, so everything's fine. Three yards later and he finds himself in the equally small galley.  
  
Autopilot navigates him to the coffee machine and he sets up his drink without thinking. While he waits, Dib flicks through one of the magazines he had bought from a homeless Gortye who had followed them for hours on planet Aryts in a desperate plea to get some shlorbs. Dib shakes his head as he leafs through the pages and grimaces at the lack of interesting content. What a waste.  
  
But just as he is about to slap the cheap magazine closed and forget all about it, something catches his eye and holds it. A brightly coloured and purposefully highlighted advertisement for discounted starships. His eyes widen and he brings the pages closer both in huge interest and to compensate for his lack of glasses.  
  
Meanwhile, a groan ripples from ZIM back in the bedroom. A high whistling noise attacks his antennae and he tries to hide beneath his covers to no avail. He kicks the sheets off of himself with a growl and rolls out of his small space onto the carpeted floor. Dib ss clearly awake, but ZIM still dedicates a hateful stare at his empty sleeping space.  
  
He stumbles on over to the door and slaps the overhead lights on, cringing away from the ceilings as much as he can until his eyes adjust.  
  
"Dib." He mumbles as he makes his way through the ship to the kitchen, hands constantly gripping the walls and guiding his sleepy legs. The Irken makes it to the door frame and leans on it heavily as if he's been in the war, completely prepared to fall asleep on the spot. It wouldn't be the first time, but the bed is more comfortable.  
  
" _Dib_." He repeats louder, anger flaring when the human continues to ignore both him and the annoying noise. Dib sharply looks up, sans glasses, and ZIM glares at him meaningfully. When Dib only squints at him, the Irken throws up his arm and points at the infernal coffee machine.  
  
"Stop it." He demands groggily. He'd never quite gotten how to turn it off and Dib had banned any interaction when he had thrown the last broken thing into space. The human's expression changes immediately to alarm as he sets whatever is in his hands down and ZIM resumes his slump against the door frame, closing his eyes.  
  
"ZIM -"  
  
"I am _not_ getting your glasses. You left 'em, you get 'em."  
  
He opens his eyes then to see a very displeased human pouring out his favourite drink with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"No, not that. Here, look at this." Something slides along the tiny counter towards ZIM and if it wasn't for his PAK's instinctive act, the object would have ' _pap_ 'ed him in the stomach and fallen to the floor pathetically. Fortunately for his pride, one of his metallic legs pierced it partially and its a miracle that he can even read so soon after waking up. It was a magazine. He stares at it for a moment.  
  
"Yeah, that's cool." He mutters with disinterest, looking out of the porthole behind himself. There was an audible sigh and ZIM wants to crawl back into bed.  
  
"ZIM just look at the page and I'll get you a soda or something." The prospect of the sugary drink made the Irken smack his lips and push off of the door to do as he was told. It's not a weakness, he insists to himself as Dib tries to conceal a grin, it's survival.  
  
His metal appendage shifts back into his PAK and he looks down at the desired page with feigned interest. It doesn't take too long for his soda to appear by his side, nor for his interest to turn real.  
  
"Starships? The corvette's nice but..." He trails off and then gasps, "They have a Slopian Warship! ZIM must have the _delicious angles_!"  
  
Whilst ZIM engrossed himself in the magazine, Dib takes a sip of his coffee and heads out of the galley to the rest area again. He locates his glasses by the ashtray and finally decides to take it back with him into the kitchen. He feels like a mature adult and not the slob he has been for a while.  
  
"See anything else you like?" He asks as he returns, glancing over the Irken's shoulder with renewed vision. The corner of his mouth turns down in disapproval at the presumed Warship and he adds pointedly, "Something that's not _that_ expensive, maybe?"  
  
ZIM spares a quick glance and Dib could have sworn he saw hearts swimming in those endless orbs.  
  
"Everything. I want it all." His voice is dreamy and Dib laughs to himself as he empties the contents of his ashtray into the waste container. Before he can put the glass holder down on the counter though, arms snake around his waist and his back becomes flushed with a whole lot of ZIM.  
  
"But there's something else I want that's not in the magazine."  
  
Dib closes his eyes briefly and comments, "Y'know, this won't make me dish out and get you your Warship."  
  
He feels rather than sees how ZIM weasels between himself and the worktop. He expected a full display of whatever ZIM deemed 'cute' today. Last time, his affectionate act involved yanking at Dib's hair with impatience. When he opens his eyes again, ZIM was staring at his hand. The ashtray. Before he can do anything, ZIM gently pries it from his fingers and places it on the counter behind himself.  
  
"ZIM hates it when you smoke."  
  
Dib purses his lips helplessly, all thoughts of dangerous persuasion flitting from his mind, and only says, "I know."  
  
ZIM knows about humans and their addictions, though Dib's stress-relief smoking could hardly be called a problem, but he couldn't say honestly that the alien understood. Only desire for destruction and power runs through Irken veins, leaving little else to the imagination. Even now, with ZIM being detached from his own people in more ways than one, he still longs for subservience and unfathomable chaos.  
  
The human pauses to reflect that they were evenly blocked. ZIM couldn't understand human addiction and Dib couldn't wrap his head around the constant urge to destroy. He is pulled from his thoughts much the same way he is pulled down towards the Irken.  
  
Their lips meet almost timidly, though they had done this specific act countless times for years after growing closer and closer.  
  
And as they become bolder, Dib smooths his hands over ZIM's chest to under his arms. Breaking the kiss for a moment, he picks the Irken up easily with a laugh at how light he is and sits him on the counter, moving between cooperative legs to resume the kiss.  
  
ZIM's hands are on his jaw and in his hair. He is well aware that Dib enjoys contact, so that was just what he was going to give him. His shorter legs wrap around the human's waist where his arms had been only moments before.  
  
Dib held ZIM's naturally bony hips securely but one hand travelled up to his neck when the kiss became open-mouthed. He could taste the sugar of the soda on the alien's tongue. ZIM moved away with a grimace.  
  
"I hate the taste of coffee. Why do you like it so much?" He demands, apparently scraping his teeth over his tongue.  
  
"I think it's nice," says Dib, thumbing mindless patterns onto ZIM's clothed hips.  
  
"Don't you think Zim is nicer?" The alien enquires suspiciously and Dib squints at him. No way did Zim just say that.  
  
"Of course you're not," with that he captures ZIM's lips with a little peck and rests their foreheads together, "But you kiss alright, I guess."

ZIM strokes up and down the human's sides and watches Dib's mouth. He gets bored.  
  
"What’s the rendezvous point again? It begins with a 'T' or something, I don't know." ZIM says, and despite their close proximity he doesn't bother lowering his voice. Dib has gotten used to it.  
  
"Torpielk. Its the last planet in the solar system, remember?" He reminds gently. Realisation dawns on ZIM's face and Dib nods. They had been through this with Lard Nar before first embarking on the reconnaissance mission.  
  
"The first planet?"  
  
Dib pauses and observes ZIM's genuine confusion, before hesitantly obliging him, "The last, ZIM."  
  
"Oh. The first?"  
  
Dib moves away with a suffering groan at that and decides not to indulge the Irken's eternal cluelessness. ZIM surprised him by not reaching out and yanking him back to get his fill of ‘wretched embraces’, like he usually did.  
  
"Whatever. I'm gonna set our course, you can look at more starships and pick a good one. You're better at it than me."  
  
"Well obviously. I am ZIM." The Irken states, eliciting an automatic snigger from Dib.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, space boy. Just do it."  
  
The human disappears with his coffee in hand into the main cabin and sits at the flight deck. He pulls up a holographic map from the simulator and wakes the controls from autopilot to see if there were any problems. He checks and rechecks maybe a dozen times on their fuel and calculates that they would have to make a stop-off on the way, especially if they were going to be creeping along warily to avoid the Irken-dominated regions.  
  
Meanwhile in the tiny kitchen, ZIM kicks his legs idly and pulls the magazine over. He looks over the page with the deals on and sighs. So many starships, so little shlorbs.  
  
The Slopian Warship is by far the most powerful one on there, and it's huge too. It has a hunger for fuel, a result of its quick and easy hyperjump and FTL runner, but other than that there were practically no faults. Apart from its price of seven hundred, thousand shlorbs. It's just a _little_ over their price range.  
  
Curious, ZIM searches for the worst one on the page. Unfortunately, it's a Ruell Cruiser and only serves to remind ZIM of his precious Voot. He stares at it sadly and glances at the short list of components the magazine displays.  
  
Limited hyperjump (even the Voot hadn't had that), quick-firing and long range lasers produced by _'Ruell_ _Replentative’_ energy, and a set of powerful engines that Cruisers are known extensively for.

  
It didn't sound bad but there was plenty of competition in that regard. His job was to find the best one within their price range but he wanted all of them just as badly as the next wanted vigilante. Cocking his head with boredom, and to stave off his imminent conclusion, he starts to add up all of the prices.  
  
Whilst ZIM counts on his fingers with his tongue sticking out in concentration, Dib draws up an autopilot course for them with a speed that's not too slow but it would keep them under the radar in any case. They would be heading straight for the nearest refuelling station and then get on their way to Torpielk to meet with Lard Nar and the other Resisty associates. Reminding himself, he sends a quick transmission to the Vortian's main hub giving Nar a run-down of their track.  
  
The human sits back and takes a long sip of his coffee as the Corvette turns itself portway and starts along the track he had set. He checks the approximate travelling time and stands up with a yawn.  
  
"Twenty minutes, ZIM," he calls into the galley once he recovers from his blissful stretch and starts towards the kitchen, "We're on a tiny detour to the gas station so hurry up with picking out a ship. I'll send it off when we get there."  
  
When he steps into the tiled area that he had styled in the most homely way he could, he finds ZIM stressing himself over the magazine. He was murmuring to himself and counting up to Zork knows what on his three fingers and glancing back and forth at the page. As soon as Dib quiets and takes a step forward inquisitively, ZIM squawks excitedly and throws himself off the counter like a very tiny possessed child.  
  
"All these ships are worth the exact same price as the Slopian," ZIM gushes, one of his grins splitting his face and hands flapping, "I just got an idea."  
  
Dib watches happily as ZIM dances to himself for a little moment, and then jumps up on his tip toes as he pulls on Dib's robe around his neck, effectively stooping him. A firm kiss is planted on his mouth and ZIM pulls away looking far too proud of himself. It made Dib wonder what he had figured out.  
  
"We get the cheapest one - hear ZIM out - and then add its more useful features to the corvette. We'll make a Ruell-Vortian hybrid. We can finally hyper jump, Dib!" He exclaims.  
  
ZIM's newfound energy was infectious and Dib finds himself smiling along with the Irken.  
  
"Show me the Ruell ship. I wanna see what's so great."  
  
At that ZIM hesitates, drawing in a deep breath only to hold it with a finger poised in mid-air. His face drops and his hand curls in on itself before falling to his side. It appeared that he had hit a mental block.  
  
"It's... not all that great. It's a cruiser." He warns reluctantly.  
  
Dib cocks his head slightly and ZIM watches his face carefully before adding, "And the corvette wouldn't get any bigger..." ZIM looked to be grappling for any other sort of incentive to the idea and his long pause told Dib enough.

"No... forget it - it was a bad idea."  
  
ZIM's shoulders slump and he waves away his less-than-great plan from the air between them, looking to their bare feet and then to the magazine on the counter again helplessly. Dib's brow furrows and he nudges their foreheads together. After a beat of silence where ZIM refuses to meet Dib's eye, Dib makes a quick decision.  
  
"You wanted a corvette with," Dib glances over at the magazine and finds the Ruell Cruiser, "better weapons for defense, even though the space inside wouldn't change one bit - which you've been complaining about since we got this thing. We would be spending as little shlorbs as possible to get a better output. ZIM, I might be going crazy but that sounds like a very good, very selfless plan."  
  
ZIM glares at him, mouth open wide to vehemently argue his case of being 'very selfish, thank you very much' but Dib didn't let his pause linger. ZIM's reaction only made him continue his harmless, true teasing.  
  
"And I think we should do it. Because it’s a _good_ plan."  
  
For the second time that morning, ZIM's words were stolen from his open mouth and he closes his jaws so quickly they both heard the loud click. His cheeks darken to Dib's delight and he tries to squirm away but the human grabs at his upper arms and grins. ZIM hated being called good, even if the subject wasn't necessarily himself.  
  
"Aww, c'mon. I didn't mean anything by it. You're still an angry little black hole of destruction to me."  
  
ZIM's flush darkens and his eyes bulge in defiance. He tries even harder to get away.  
  
"ZIM is not _little_!"  
  
"Oh but look how flustered you are." Dib cooes deliberately. He strokes ZIM's head like he would a household pet, drawing him closer into a comfortable embrace. ZIM's idea was genuinely one to think about, but he couldn't have possibly passed up such an opportunity. He holds the Irken closer, laughing.  
  
ZIM continues to fight his corner valiantly but lets a frustrated laugh escape his fluttering chest, "Get away from me!"

**Author's Note:**

> lol i love you guys <3


End file.
